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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639234">were there clues i didn't see?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlilycorinne/pseuds/tigerlilycorinne'>tigerlilycorinne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AUgust 2020 Short Fic [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But I Love Them, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Idiot Newt, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Newt, Pining Credence, They're Such Idiots, and one horse, and one self-indulgent author, farm/ranch AU, it's not even realistic, just a lot of fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:22:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlilycorinne/pseuds/tigerlilycorinne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Credence, is something wrong?” he asks one day, “Have I done something?”</p><p>Credence is squatting by the cow, his pants stretched taut so that Newt can see the precise shape of his thighs, his knobby knees, and also his bum, <em>not that Newt is looking</em>. </p><p>He turns, dark eyes flicking to the open collar of Newt’s shirt. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Scamader.” </p><p>Newt can see the shine of sweat on the back of Credence’s neck as Credence turns back to the milking. “Don’t you ever think of taking off some of your clothes?” he asks, wondering if it <em>is</em> heatstroke after all.</p><p> “I’ve-finished-the-milking-Mr-Scamander,” Credence says in a rush, and leaves Newt very much at a loss. </p><p>He feels the cow’s teats– she’s <em>not</em> finished, not even close.</p><p>Or: Newt takes "Oblivious" to a whole new level. That's it. That's the whole fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Credence Barebone/Newt Scamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AUgust 2020 Short Fic [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>AUgust 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>were there clues i didn't see?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Taylor Swift's "invisible string"<br/>("were there clues I didn't see?" Yes, yes there were.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>5099 Words</p><p>were there clues I didn’t see?</p><p>Newt feels bad the moment he sets eyes on his new farmhand. </p><p>The man is, to put it simply, a heartstopper. He’s gorgeous, in the worst of ways. Dark hair, pale skin, sharp features. He looks like a knife. His handwriting on the application was round and smooth, and this man looks decidedly the opposite.</p><p>“Please, come in, I’ll show you your room, just inside and down the hallway, and then I can show you the barn, and introduce you to all the animals. I’m sure they’ll take to you, although I’ll have to warn you, the dogs are allowed in the house and they might bark at you when you come inside,” Newt babbles, and when the man says nothing, he reaches out with a hand: “Let me take your bag.” </p><p>The man– Credence Barebone, read his application– has one bag, and when Newt takes it from the new helper, who doesn’t say a word, he realizes it’s barely got anything in it. He doesn’t say anything about it, but he feels a pang in his heart as he lifts it and gestures for Credence to follow him into the house. It’s all clothes– except for a notebook that bangs against Newt’s foot, and Newt flushes. </p><p>“Sorry, just, a little clumsy. Suppose you’ll get used to it.”</p><p>He read that Mr Barebone aged out of the foster care system, his last foster mother keeping him for a very long time and later found to be unfit as a guardian. He thinks he can see it in the way the twenty-something shuffles obediently as if still a child, his head down, his black hat clasped respectfully in both his hands and doesn’t respond.</p><p>“What brings you here?” He asks as Mr. Barebone follows him down the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. He can see Mr Barebone casting his eyes about the large house– the sunlit kitchen, the large dining area with a rough wooden table and no class, the living area with several large beanbags, their colours faded from sun exposure. “It’s the job, sure, but why this job?”</p><p>Mr. Barebone speaks softly, as if trying not to upset anything. Perhaps, since the dogs haven’t come by, he thinks they’re asleep, and is trying not to wake them. Perhaps he’s frightened of <em>Newt</em>, but Newt doesn’t think so. He’s skinny and awkward, freckly and generally uncomfortable, which aren’t conducive to intimidation. </p><p>“Just to get away, is all.” His voice is warbly. Looking at him, Newt would’ve thought the man’s voice would be deep and a little commanding, but he sounds like a frightened child with a man’s voice, trying to sound like a child, still. “It’s quiet here,” he says, as if he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t.</p><p>Newt nods and shows him his room. He shows him the window, how to pull the curtain, the barn he could point to from the window, the fields, the little herb garden he’s been trying his hand at. His bed, which Mr Barebone’s eyes go wide at, the closet and the bathroom, right next door, Newt’s room on the other side. He warns him about the rooster and tells him he’ll be up early. Mr Barebone nods and nods and nods, looking obediently where Newt points without a word. Newt can’t tell if he’s a sullen man or if that’s just his normal face that he doesn’t mean to be making.</p><p>When Newt gives up and asks, “Do you have any questions? Concerns? Anything you need?”</p><p>Mr Barebone just shakes his head and says, “No, sir.”</p><p>Newt dithers about for a little bit, and then says, “Alright, well lunch is in about an hour, if you’re hungry.”</p><p>Mr Barebone is hungry. He eats through most of the food on his plate remarkably fast, then eats through the rest of it slowly, as if trying to slow himself. Newt urges him to take more. He refuses, and Newt gives him more anyway. He doesn’t seem to have any qualms about funny-shaped homebaked bread, or goat cheese, or arugula that’s really much spicier than it should be because it’s homegrown and Newt hasn’t figured out why it keeps ending up as sharp as it does. He eats it all.</p><p>Mr Barebone, Newt realizes after a few weeks, is <em>always </em>hungry. When Newt catches sight of the man without his shirt– not that he’s been <em>looking</em>, mind you, but these things happen on a farm, particularly when your farm assistant doesn’t know how to milk a cow yet– he sees that Mr. Barebone (or Credence, as he’s called him of late) is hunger-panged thin. </p><p>And he’s curious. Always curious. Why the pygmy goats are so fat (they have four stomachs, like normal goats, but they’re smaller, so it makes them wider) and if they’re pregnant (no, they’re mostly male) and if they’re mostly male, why do they…<em> do that</em>–? (Homosexuality is natural, and it’s mating season.) </p><p>He has a very strong sense of shame that bleeds into self-punishment, which Newt notices after answering this question about the mating male goats and seeing Credence’s cheeks flush very red, and then Credence stops asking questions for two whole days, though curiosity burns in his gaze as they go over the fields, the wheat and the horse-drawn plow, which isn’t necessary, since Newt also has a mechanical one. He introduces Credence to the horses and explains they like the exercise, plus it saves fuel, which in turn helps the earth. </p><p>Credence is a horse person. He holds the reins from the ground, tugging them lightly and pressing his forehead against Barley’s forehead</p><p>“Why ‘Barley’?” His mouth turns up, like he might smile. Newt as been trying to make him smile for weeks now, to no avail. He almost got one the first time he called Credence by his first name.</p><p>“Because I was sixteen when I got her, and I thought it was funny.” </p><p>The sun shines fiercely down on them, and Newt only has on a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and suspenders. Credence, as always (except for the one time he got milk all over him), has on a white shirt and a thin but sturdy black jacket, zipped to the throat. It’s big on Credence, the edge of it reaching the tops of his thighs. Newt can see a trail of sweat down the side of Credence’s face, but Credence doesn’t take off his jacket. </p><p>Credence runs a hand through Barley’s mane. “It is funny,” he says gravely, not laughing, and Newt finds himself unreasonably fond of Credence in that moment.</p><p>Credence is honest. Except when it comes to his needs and wants, he says exactly what he thinks, like how he thinks Barley’s name <em>is</em> funny (no one else ever had, which Newt thought was fair) or how he thought the dogs were overly affectionate towards Newt (in all fairness, they had bowled him over when he came home) or how he didn’t mind the rooster, because his foster mother, Mary Lou, would wake him up at the crack of dawn to do chores anyway, which makes Newt so upset, he pulls Credence into his room and watches several happy-ending movies with him back to back. </p><p>“Mr Scamander, do people really write notes to themselves about what they feel?” </p><p>“Er– yes, I never have, but I suppose I just tell my animals instead.” Yesterday, for example, Newt found himself wasting half an hour of the day murmuring to Barley about how the scars on Credence’s palm make him cry, sometimes, at night, and how he nearly kissed the lines across Credence’s palm when he first saw them, as if to kiss it better years later.</p><p>“Isn’t it a waste of paper?” </p><p>“Well, not if it’s a something that is bothering them, see? Or if they tell themselves they’ll do something, it helps them be brave enough to do it, I think.”</p><p> They watch until he finally gets his first smile out of Credence– in the Princess Bride, no less (who knew Credence was such a sap?)– and immediately regrets having ever met Credence because <em>how could he feel like this in just two months?</em> </p><p>If he felt guilty recognising that Credence was a looker when Credence first came, since Credence <em>works for him</em>, for God’s sake, it’s nothing to the guilt that crushes him now, as he lives his life like nothing’s wrong, like his sun doesn’t rise and set in the smile of the man one room over from him. Who is literally employed by Newt. </p><p>Because he’s halfway in love, and has been pathetically drawn to this young man the moment he came through the door, he knows these things: Credence has few things, Credence doesn’t speak unless spoken to, Credence is eager to please, Credence is always hungry, Credence curious, Credence has a strong sense of shame, Credence is sometimes self-punishing, Credence is a horse person, Credence is honest.</p><p>Because he’s attuned to Credence’s every move, every breath, every glance, he knows something is wrong in the middle of their third month, as summer is melting into fall and the pumpkins are getting larger. He knocks on the doorframe– a formality more than anything, since the door’s open– to invite Credence to go look at them, maybe have lunch in the pumpkin patch. </p><p>Credence, sitting in his bed, straightens, looks at Newt and away, shoving something under this pillow with a panicked urgency Newt has never seen from him. “Something from home,” he tells Newt before Newt even asks, which has Newt blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t get out of bed, nor does he look at Newt. “I’m not hungry.” </p><p>Newt knows Credence well enough to know that one, he <em>is</em> hungry and two, that even if he wasn’t, he’d normally lie and go with Newt anyway, to see the pumpkin patch because Credence always wants to please Newt, which is sometimes very distressing. Because who’s to say if he finds out how Newt feels, he won’t just… go along with it?</p><p>And Newt can see the glint of curiosity in Credence’s eye, so he <em>knows</em> something is wrong.</p><p>He does nothing about it.</p><p>Instead, he nods and smiles and tells Credence there’s food in the fridge and he can always pick fresh tomatoes from the garden– they’ll be overripe soon anyway, and has he watered the horses this morning? Because he usually does, but this morning he didn’t see Credence down there, and Credence says thank you and no he hasn’t.</p><p>The sense of wrongness intensifies as the week drains away. Credence is avoiding Newt, depriving himself of horses to the point where Barley spends most of her time moping and doesn’t even <em>want</em> to plow the fields, he skips meals, he stares into space when Newt’s talking to him, which, okay, Newt has always been boring, but not to Credence, he was sure.</p><p>And Newt, well. Newt is <em>hopeless</em>. What is he meant to do anyway? He’s already gone on as if nothing’s wrong for as long as possible, and Credence hasn’t gotten visibly better. And he can’t remember what, exactly, might’ve even been the cause of this. </p><p>He thinks back again and again, the day before that first day. Nothing had <em>happened.</em> He’d been out inspecting his arugula, which hadn’t gotten any less spicy, and he’d watered the little garden. Credence had milked the cows. Newt had milked the female goats. He’d peeled off his sweaty shirt and told Credence to please watch the dog’s water bowl when he was filling the bowl with water, or else it would spill over the edge the way it was then, and that he was going to take a shower, did he know where the laundry basket had gotten to? </p><p>Credence had been very red, he remembered– he must’ve been hot. Only, Credence stayed almost exclusively inside now, except for the jobs he performed outside, and most of those were actually inside the barn. So if it was heatstroke, it would be over now. And it didn’t <em>look</em> like heatstroke.</p><p>“Credence, is something wrong?” he asks one day, after he can’t bear it much longer. “You’ve got me worried I’ve done something. Have I done something?”</p><p>Credence is squatting by the cow, not sitting on the stool, and his pants stretch taut so that Newt can see the precise shape of his thighs, his knobby knees, and also his bum, <em>not that Newt is looking</em>. At all. <em>God, </em>he has to get this under control, as soon as he possibly can. This is <em>blatantly </em>immoral.</p><p>He turns, dark eyes flicking to the open collar of Newt’s shirt. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Scamader.” That’s another thing– Newt can never get his name out of Credence’s mouth. He supposes it’s a blessing in disguise, though, because he rather imagines if Credence ever spoke his first name, Newt might fall apart a little bit. “I thought you didn’t like worrying.”</p><p>Yes, he remembers saying that. Actually, he’d said there was no point in worrying, back when the dogs had been having a go at each other, and he’d told Credence he would go in real quick and try to pull them off. His arm still hurt from that, but he’d gotten them apart, with only a couple gushing slashes on his right side. Credence called him stupid and fretted over him for a week. It’s the only time Credence had insulted Newt, and Newt thinks it’s very heartwarming, all things considered.</p><p>The sleeves of Credence’s jacket are rolled up and his shirt pushed to his elbows. Credence’s jacket is so <em>big</em> for him. Newt can see the shine of sweat on the back of Credence’s neck as Credence turns back to the milking.</p><p>“Don’t you ever think of taking off some of your clothes?” he asks, wondering if it <em>is</em> heatstroke after all.</p><p>Credence stands so fast, Newt stumbles backwards in order to avoid knocking heads and finds himself holding the milk pail.</p><p> “I’ve-finished-the-milking-Mr-Scamander,” Credence says in a rush, and leaves Newt very much at a loss. </p><p>He feels the cow’s teats– she’s <em>not</em> finished, not even close. He really must fix things, he thinks, and resolves to do so, <em>tonight.</em> He will. He will find the nerve to talk to Credence.</p><p>He does not find the nerve. He thinks it’s because he misplaced it somewhere in his heart somewhere, so he sits and thinks and feels very much in love and tries to examine what exactly is going inside of him. He remembers watching a movie with a diary-writing exposition, Credence watching by his side, and he thinks diary-writing might actually be a helpful exercise, since every time he tries to tell Barley his woes, she’s moping over Credence. He feels fluttery and blushy and upset and hurt, like he’s run into Leta and he’s sixteen again. </p><p>The next day, he thinks he’ll follow through if he just makes it official. So he writes it down:<em> I will speak to Credence tonight</em>.</p><p>It works, surprisingly enough. He imagines himself going into his own bedroom and finding the piece of paper on the bedstand saying he’d talk to Credence, knowing he couldn’t get up the nerve, and he feels very pathetic in his imagination. In order to avoid this situation, he knocks on Credence’s door after dinner, which Credence misses, so he brings a plate with him too, sun-warmed strawberries and fresh cream, just-baked bread with salted butter the way Credence likes it, and an arugula salad that’s too spicy.</p><p>“Credence,” he calls through the closed door, “Please let me in. I have dinner for you.”</p><p>There’s a shuffling, and the rustle of paper, and then Credence opens the door. His jacket is off. His pillow is crooked, but the rest of his bed is perfectly made. His closet isn’t full– he’s never had many clothes and Newt couldn’t get him to go shopping with him. His room is neat and well-kept and Newt wishes he could just… live here. With Credence. Instead of, oh, he doesn’t know. Beside him, or whatever this is. Co-existing. Credence himself look apprehensive, almost wary, even as his eyes catch on the plate of food and bowl of cream-and-strawberries and his throat bobs.</p><p>“Mr Scamander,” Credence says unnecessarily, like he might say something more. He still doesn’t.</p><p>Newt hands him the plates and watches him eat with no small ache in his chest, wondering where they went wrong when they’d been doing so good before. He even remembers when Credence smiled that one time. They sit on Credence’s bed, a few feet apart; it feels like an unbreachable distance.  “I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I?”</p><p>Credence looks up at him solemnly. “You?” Credence’s eyes are dark, dark, his brows always pulled together a little bit unhappily. </p><p>“Me.” Newt rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve upset you, somehow.”</p><p>Credence swallows. “No.” He looks away from Newt, his eyes darting to his pillow, behind Newt. He looks away from Newt when he’s lying.</p><p>“Oh dear,” Newt says, “I <em>have</em>.”</p><p>“No, you haven’t.” Credence sighs morosely.</p><p>Newt’s heart feels heavy in his chest. “But you’re so miserable. I’ve– I’ve done something wrong, and it’s upset you.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Credence says again, still looking at the pillow and not meeting Newt’s eyes. “You<em> haven’t</em>. Newt Scamander, you haven’t done anything wrong, and I am not upset with you.”</p><p>Newt’s name on Credence’s lips is magical. It’s a gift, it’s a wonder, it’s something that Newt has no place being this ecstatic about. Credence, on the other hand, doesn’t look any happier. “You’re upset, and I don’t know why. I’m truly sorry, I should have paid more attention, I reckon–”</p><p>“There is <em>nothing wrong with you</em>,” Credence interrupts rather aggressively. He still doesn’t say more. He doesn’t say much, Credence, but Newt is so <em>confused</em>– couldn’t Credence just– just– well, look him in the eye, for starters.</p><p>He follows Credence’s eyes. “Should I move the pillow? Is it bothering you?” Obviously it’s not the <em>core</em> of Credence’s issues, but it seems to distract Credence, and maybe Newt can get whatever it is out of Credence if Credence isn’t so pillow-focused.</p><p>“No,” Credence says, but Newt moves it anyway.</p><p>There’s a rustle. Beneath the pillow, there are loose papers, as if they’ve been ripped out of a notebook. Crumpled, too, and flattened.</p><p>“Oh,” says Newt, feeling stupid and rude and wrong. “Bugger, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll just–” he tries to push them back under the pillow and is mostly succeeding when Credence stops him.</p><p>“No,” says Credence again, as if he’s going to say something more. “No,” he says again, his voice rough. “I guess you should probably read them.”</p><p><em>Read them?</em> Why would… Newt gives up thinking about it, mostly because Credence’s cheeks are cherry red and his eyes are wild and urgent, and his mouth has gone tight and he’s very, very clearly nervous and impatient and afraid. Of what, Newt doesn’t know. </p><p>So he starts reading them, only it feels silent and awkward when someone’s reading to themself, so on a whim, he reads the thing out loud, tugging them from under the pillow and trying his very best to maintain their order. He recognises the handwriting from the application, and from Credence’s grocery notes on the fridge, and from a million other places since nearly half a year ago.</p><p>“Er.<em> Pygmy goats have four stomachs, and they are not pregnant, but they have less space for their organs. The males have sex with each other–”</em></p><p>“The other side,” Credence says, sounding strangled, dropping his red face into his hands. </p><p>“Ah.” Newt says, and then awkwardly, “It’s just, I can’t tell which side is which because you’ve ripped it out.” He flips over the page. <em>“Today Mr Scamander and I watched a movie where the character writes in a diary.</em>” Newt falters. “Er, are you sure these are–”</p><p>“Yes, those.” Credence’s voice is muffled from his hands, because he hasn’t lifted his face.</p><p>“Okay.” Newt picks up the next one. “<em>Mr Scamander saw the scars, the ones on my hands. He touched me very carefully. He is very kind and gentle. Even with his animals, he is very kind and gentle.</em></p><p><em>“Mr Scamander’s hurt. He got in the middle of a dog fight, which is braver than I’ll ever be, but also the stupidest thing anyone has ever done–</em> hey, that’s a little impolite–<em> Mr Scamander helped me ride a horse. Even though I am fond of Barley, I couldn’t stop thinking about Newt’s hands on me. She’s very tall and strong, but I wasn’t even afraid because Newt is so steady and safe. Ma says this is sinful, and I suppose she’s right–”</em> Newt looks quickly over at Credence, whose neck and ears are flushed red. “Sinful? Credence, there’s nothing wrong with riding–”</p><p>“You’re terrible,” Credence whimpers into his hands, and Newt edges closer, unsure how close he is allowed to get. He’s just upsetting Credence more, he thinks. “Read them all, okay? Don’t–” he lifts his head and pushes a hand through his hair, which has grown out over the past few months and now makes him look as if he could be a big-city model, if he wanted. “You’ll understand if you read all of them. You’re not <em>that</em> stupid.”</p><p>Newt furrows his brow, his gut twisting coldly. “Am I really being stupid?”</p><p>Credence’s hands, Newt realizes, are shaking. This was a bad idea. Coming here to talk to Credence was a bad idea. He’s managed to upset Credence even more, and has somehow ended up reading Credence’s diary out loud… if this is a diary. It seems more like a catalogue of ‘Mr Scamander’ related thoughts, which can’t be more than a small fraction of all of Credence’s thoughts. </p><p>“Alright, alright,” he agrees quickly, edging closer to Credence and pushing his hands down from his face gently. “I’ll read it, alright? Listen, I’m reading it right now. <em>Mr Scamander took off his shirt today. I stared for so long the dogs’ water bowl overflowed onto the deck, and Mr Scamander noticed. I don’t think…”</em> Newt trails off. He looks down at what Credence has written, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. <em>I don’t think he knows how much I want him, which I don’t think is sinful, because Mr Scamander is too good for it to be bad to feel this way. Even if I wasn’t wearing the jacket and he <span class="u">saw</span>, he’d probably think I was desperately attracted to milking cows or something stupid. I don’t think he will even notice I’m in love with him unless I tell him to his face, in those exact words. I’m not sure <span class="u">anyone’s</span> brave enough to do that.</em></p><p>Credence puts his hands on his knees and stands up. “I’m going to go wash these dishes.”</p><p>Newt is frozen. He’s fully gone blank. “We have a dishwasher,” he murmurs, still clutching the letters and trying to comprehend <em>what the hell does this mean</em>. </p><p>Credence nods, once, and says, “Right.” And leaves with his dishes.</p><p>Credence is in love with him? Credence… all Newt did was take off his shirt. Is that why Credence has been avoiding him? Because he took off his shirt? Or because…</p><p>There’s the light sound of dishes being put away, and then the sound of a chair being pulled out. What is Credence even doing right now? Being in love with Newt? Is that what he’s doing?</p><p><em>Waiting for you to yell at him, maybe</em>, a corner of his mind supplies, and he gives a jolt. “Oh,” he says, “Bugger,” and he jumps up, knocking over a set of pencils on Credence’s bedside stand, the diary page still in his hand. </p><p>He runs down the hall to the kitchen where the dishwasher is, thinking <em>desperately attracted</em> and<em> in love with him</em> and <em>how much I want him</em> and <em>stupid, stupid, stupid</em>. </p><p>He remembers now, Credence’s wide eyes and red face, but this time it makes a whole lot more sense. It wasn’t <em>heatstroke</em>, and oh what an idiot Newt has been. He feels like hitting himself very hard, but he also feels so much happier with himself than he’s ever been in his entire life. He’s done <em>something</em> right, he thinks, if Credence– oh dear God– if <em>Credence</em> is <em>in love</em> with <em>him</em>.</p><p>Credence is sitting in a chair at the dining table when Newt gets there, his whole body trembling, his hands twisting together, all his knuckles white. He looks miserable, like he’s waiting to die. “Hello,” he says, sounding like he’s choking.</p><p>Newt hates to see him like this. He stands on his knees so as to get on Credence’s level and he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Did you know that male humans also have sex with each other?”</p><p>Credence puts both hands over his eyes and makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a plea for death.</p><p>Newt makes his own plea for death. <em>That’s</em> what he had to say? He swallows hard and tries again. “I mean. I would like to. Among many other things. I mean, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I would like to stare at you for hours on end. Even without your shirt. Especially without your shirt,” Newt babbles, wishing he could melt into the floorboards on the spot. “I <em>mean</em>, I’d like to do a lot of things. With you. Like– like I would like you to live with me. I mean, you already live with me. But– for <em>forever</em>.”</p><p>Credence peeks over his hands. He’s still shaking, but he looks almost as if he might– as if he might <em>smile</em>. </p><p>“I mean, if it wasn’t already obvious, I am also desperately attracted to you,” he says. “And <em>you</em> also drove <em>me</em> crazy when you rode– a horse–” he groans and takes a breath and a moment to gather his feelings and his thoughts. This is going everywhere and no where at all, and he feels like there’s a hurricane of thoughts around his heart, and the thoughts are true, but he just wants to get to the center of it where his heart is and tell Credence–</p><p>And tell him–</p><p>Newt looks up and grabs Credence’s hands, which have lowered to his lap, and he says, “What I <em>mean</em> is I’m in love with you too.”</p><p>And Credence, Credence <em>smiles</em> like the rising sun, and slips himself off the chair to join Newt on the floor, his hands gently tugging out of Newt’s to hold Newt on either side of his face. “I’m going to kiss you now,” Credence says.</p><p>He does. Credence, Newt knows, is honest. But it’s almost a lie of omission, calling it a ‘kiss’.</p><p>Whatever this is is not allowed to be captured in one word, let alone one syllable. It’s Credence’s mouth against his own, open and sweet, tasting of strawberries and fresh cream; it’s Credence’s hands shaking against his cheeks and the feel of Credence’s shoulder-length hair sliding between Newt’s fingers; it’s the world of feeling that explodes within Newt the moment they touch, propelling him forwards until somehow he’s got a hand on Credence’s hip and Credence is on his back, Newt’s arm cushioning the back of his head, and Credence is gasping and looking up at him and <em>that was not a kiss</em>. </p><p>That was five months, three of summer sun, one of aching wishes, and one of complete confusion, that was Credence’s smile and his diary letters and riding Barley and Newt taking off his bloody shirt and Credence overfilling the waterbowl, that was the fact that apparently, Credence wears a warm black jacket several sizes too large for the specific purpose of hiding how much he wants Newt, that was the stunning man one door down loving stupid, awkward, terrible Newt, all stuffed inside one (admittedly very long) kiss. The kiss is just the gift-wrapping for everything else inside of it.</p><p>Credence is a vision when Newt opens his eyes, the ghost of Credence’s breath still tangible on his lips. Credence’s mouth is pink and wet, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed. It’s the look in his eyes, though, that has Newt wrapped around his finger. Wonder, and awe, and happiness that Newt hasn’t seen on this man’s face before, <em>ever</em>, he’s certain of it.</p><p>“Would you really let me stay forever?” he whispers, his fingers still drawing circles on Newt’s back. </p><p>“Let you? I’d beg you to stay,” Newt tells him. He pulls them both up so they’re sitting, and then standing. “Sorry about that,” he mutters sheepishly, talking about kissing Credence into the floor. “Got carried away.”</p><p>“Just a little,” Credence says, still smiling. “And I’ve half a mind to let you get carried away, if I’m staying.” His cheeks stain pink at his own words, and he adds hurriedly, “Later, maybe.”</p><p>“With time,” Newt says. </p><p>“Like the goats.”</p><p>“Oh,” Newt groans, but he can’t squash his smile. “Shut up.”</p><p>“That’s what you said. I pretty much gave you love letters, and the first thing you said to me was that human males also have sex with each other.”</p><p>“Technically, it was that we have a dishwasher.”</p><p>“You <em>really are</em> terrible,” Credence sighs, a fond look in his eye.</p><p>“But I really do love you.” Newt kisses Credence again, just to demonstrate. Something occurs to him just then. “Er– Credence, why were you <em>always</em> wearing your jacket, then? You can’t possibly– not <em>all the time</em>.”</p><p>“I couldn’t predict the future.” </p><p>No, Newt supposes he couldn’t. After all, Newt hardly could’ve predicted <em>this</em>: standing with Credence in his arms, Credence looking up at him with adoration. </p><p>“I wore it on the off-chance that I’d need it.” Credence sighs into him. “Next time you take off your shirt, you ought to give a warning.”</p><p>“It’s getting into winter. Hardly weather for taking off clothes.” Newt says. “I reckon the next time I take off my shirt with you around, you’ll be very much involved with it.”</p><p>Credence considers him seriously. “Yes, I hope so.” His face brightens. “Oh, and I’d love to ride–”</p><p>Newt chokes on air.</p><p>“<em>Barley! I want to ride Barley</em>! Calm down, Newt.” Credence grabs Newt’s hand, tugging him along. It’s after dinner and the horses are already in, but Newt doesn’t say so; he’s too busy clearing his air-passage. “I’ve missed the horses.”</p><p>Newt clears his throat aggressively, and smiles. “They’ve missed you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come say hi on tumblr @<a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tigerlilycorinne-drarry-me">tigerlilycorinne-drarry-me</a> or on my main @<a href="https://tigerlilycorinne.tumblr.com/">tigerlilycorinne</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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